


Friendships Forged

by MissMagpie



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-05 12:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13388118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMagpie/pseuds/MissMagpie
Summary: Amira Hyde comes face to face with Wildemount's most dubious band of adventurers, on the wrong end of their blades. First impressions aren't always what they seem.





	1. Amira: Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised, that as of 12/2/18, I am marking this piece as a draft and a work in progress! Originally published (and finished) in early 2018, I am revising and re-posting some chapters to make things all bright and shiny. Good things to come! Caleb & Fjord's chapters are going be overhauled in Critical Role's winter hiatus with some minor structural changes to Beau & Jester's chapters to accommodate new plot points and character developments! I am almost finished with an epilogue, so expect Caduceus in the New Year!

Three pints into her evening, Amira came face to face with herself sketched into a piece of parchment. A green half-orcish forearm slammed down the poster down before her, conveniently covering the reward details listed below her red Tiefling mug. She scowled, torn between the numbness of her ale or the numbness of a fight.

“And here I was enjoying my drink, my friend.” Amira swung upward with all of her strength. Blood sprayed and bone crunched. The half-orc reeled backwards, cradling his nose. She dashed towards the door, but not before she was tackled by a pale skinned barbarian with ebony hair. A few fingers to the eyes and a bite to the shoulder loosened the Aasimars’ grip. Amira clumsily regained her footing, her eyes trained on the open doorway and the salvation that laid beyond it. Yet, her freedom was short lived. A little girl in rags clamped onto her ankles, tearing into her ankles with the passion and fury of a small dog. Amira sent her tumbling backwards with a short, swift kick to the face. 

Amira turned to face her attackers, ready to make her stand in a side street bar fight. How many were there? How many had he sent after her? It didn’t matter. She’d win. She always won. She issued her challenge with bared teeth and a yell. Amira felt an arcane chill run down her spine as a blue blast of energy hit her square in the chest. She heard the crack of a few teeth, blood spilling from her lip, as a barrage of fists hit her left and right in the jaw. Before the third blow could strike, she grabbed the clenched fist of the monk mid-air. Red covered her teeth as Amira smirked and spat the contents on the woman’s face, following it up with a solid but of the head. She clenched her hands around the woman’s throat and together the two barreled to the bar, spilling onto the tabletop.

And so, like all good tales, Amira Hyde’s introduction to Wildemount’s most dubious band of adventurers came in the form of a tavern brawl. She woke up the next day in chains on horseback, heading west with a hell of a headache and trying to remember how exactly she’d lost. Magic. It was always the damned magic.

“Good morning, darlin’.” The green skinned half orc rode beside her, falchion at his side and a black ring around his eye. “You put up a good fight last night.”

“Not good enough, obviously.” The Assimar spoke behind her, riding a gray toned mount.

“I think she did well. It was fun! Two thumbs up!” A blue Tiefling in a flowing dress spoke, a cheery tilt to her voice. “I have some cakes in my pack if you would like some breakfast.”

Amira looked around at her captors, surrounded at all sides. Two tieflings and a monk. The Assimar scowling from behind; A half-orc who packed a punch. A sad-looking man with a goblin girl sharing the saddle. She measured them all up as they rode forward in silence. Amira figured she could take each one on individually with ease, two would be interesting, but together? She didn’t stand a chance. So, she waited.

“Who are you people?” Amira said. Her broad, eastern accent emphasized the R’s in her words, but did a good job covering the worry in her tone. “I’ve been on the run for a while. Who finally caught up with me?”

Silently, she quickly ran through the men who’d gladly pay for a convenient kidnapping at blade point. Since she left The Jovi -that  _ place _ \- she’d been messy. Loud. She’d done what she had to and hadn’t exactly left a trail of friends in her wake.

“My name is Fjord.” The half-orc explained. “That there’s Beau. Yasha’s the one with the arms. Molly. Caleb and Nott. And, the mischievous one’s Jester.”

“Hiya!” The blue Tiefling piped up, a wide smile stretching from cheek to cheek.

“We’ve been paid to escort you home.”

“Home?” Amira said, grungy and confused. “I have no -”

“To the Hydes.” As soon as the words left Fjord’s mouth, Amira grabbed the reigns of her horse and bolted for the treeline. She kicked her horse forward, onwards, as her heart filled with fear and desperation.

“We’ve got A RUNNER!” Beau yelled from behind her. Moments later, six horses were galloping towards her as Amira ran for her life. No, she wouldn’t go back. Not in this lifetime.

Amira leapt from the saddle as soon as she breached the cover of the trees. The horses couldn’t make it through the shrubbery, but she could. She brought her arms in close to prevent her shackles from snagging on any branches and took off running. She jumped over a fallen log, ran down a ravine. The autumn leaves crunched as she ran. Two daggers hit the ground at her feet, sinking in to the mud. Another sliced her forearm, ripping her tattered leather bracers. A flash of pain, but it didn’t stop her. She dodged and weaved, not caring where she was going. She wasn’t going back. A firebolt hit her straight in the back, sending her tumbling down an incline. She felt the flames scorch her back, not hot enough to burn her fire-resistant skin, but enough to singe the underclothes cushioning her armor. She quickly ducked behind a tree as the group broke the top of the ridge.

“Oh, geezus, don’t set the forest on fire, Caleb!” Fjord’s voice rang out about 40 feet from Amira’s hiding place.

“Sorry!”

Amira’s hands shook as she clutched the chains around her wrists to silence the rattling. Her breath was shallow and quick. Can’t go back. Can’t go back. Can’t go back. She glanced down to see her two scimitars at her side and smiled at the sight of her own liberation. She closed her eyes to calm herself, placing a hand on each of her blades. She stood a chance. It was a small one, minute even, but never tell her the odds.

She stepped out from behind over and stood to face her attackers, swords drawn.

“Come on, we didn’t disarm her?” Yasha looked at her compatriots with exasperation. “Really?!”

“I will admit that is an oversight.” Molly quipped.

Amira looked her captors in the eye. Her knees threatened to give out under the weight of her ragged chain skirt, but she held her ground. She gripped her swords firmly. She didn’t move.

“I won’t go back. Not to them.” Amira declared, pointing the blades at Fjord’s chest while looking him in the eye.

“Now listen, darling, we got no beef with either you or your family. We’re just doing what we’re paid for.” Fjord stopped about 10 feet in front of the ruby red Tiefling, falchion at the ready, while the others slowly advance in a circle behind her. Slowly, her chances of winning to fight were creeping towards zero. 

“I’m not going back!” Amira yelled at the half-orc standing in front of her, uneasy at the sincerity she found in his eyes. He looked honest and handsome, as if he would give the shirt of his back to help a friend in need.

“I don’t have friends.” She whispered. She charged.

Her blades met with his. Swiping left and swiping right, the two exchanged a flurry of blows, sizing each other up. Gone were the dirty tricks that Amira had in the tavern the night before. All the pain, all the torture: this is what she’d learned. It was a fight Amira knew she wouldn’t win. She didn’t care. 

She side swiped his blading, parrying easily and giving Fjord a firm shove backward. The chains around her wrist pulled tight and a sharp pang in her left wrist shot up into her elbow. An old injury. Fjord pressed forward, harder, but she blocked his blade with the crossing of her own. She swerved underneath his arms and sliced his calf. Blood flowed, coating his boot. Her wrist was throbbing; the pain did little to subdue the rising panic in her chest. A few smart swipes from Fjord disarmed one scimitar and then the other. She leapt back from a slash to the chest, missing the edge by a few millimeters, when a bow staff hit her in the shoulder, knocking her off balance. Amira wrapped the chain around the stick and twisted, pulling the staff free and leaving the monk unarmed.

Before she could turn the woman’s own weapon against her, however, Amira screamed as sheer agony racked her leg, forcing her to her knees. She looked down to see the hilt of a dagger buried in her calf. She knelt there, outnumbered and outmatched. She grimaced, already woozy from the bloodloss. She reached out for the fallen staff in front of her. She wouldn’t go back. Not in this lifetime.

She felt a blade slice into her back, cutting through metal chain and flesh alike. Amira fell forward, all her breath leaving her. And still she crawled toward that staff. She felt a familiar warmth as the blood began to pour. The group gathered around. She waited for -wished for- the final blow.

A pregnant pause overtook the air. A slight gasp came from Jester’s lips. Amira knew what they saw, what the tears in her armor had exposed. Pale, swollen lines stretch across her back, dozens of them criss-crossing on her flesh. Burns, too, small enough, but plentiful. And, at last, the brand: a large radiant sun overlapped by a crescent moon carved into her side. An ornate ‘H’ ensigned in the middle.

The group came close and stared, mouths open. Mollymauk looked away from the brand, lips curled in distaste. A small tear flowed down Nott’s cheek. Caleb’s hand touched his lips, his eyes lingering with sadness and empathy. Fjord looked at the defeated Tiefling that laid before him with all of the honor and sincerity she disdained. 

“Well, shit.” He sheathed his blade and took a deep breath. “You’re family now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One was updated and finalized as of 12/26/18. Enjoy!


	2. Yasha

It was Yasha she told her story to, that night sitting by the campfire. The rest of the group had long fallen asleep, leaving the pale woman to guard their new charge underneath the new moon. Like fire and ice, Amira found it surprisingly easy to relax around the reserved barbarian, the ease of no expectations. The flames danced across her face as Yasha’s rough hands drove a needle through the skin of her back. Another scar to add to her collection. The light revealed a softness in her that Amira took a shining too, showing that even roughness could be tamed and put to good use.

“My parents hired you?” Amira looked back to the Aasimar, holding a bloody needle in between her teeth. She held the poster in her hands, staring at herself etched in parchment. She ran her thumb over the ink, the black mark that scarred her missing left eye. Her lips pursed, sorrowful and angry, as the night brought back unwanted memories and unwanted thoughts. “I’m sure Ursa and Constantine will be overjoyed to hear how I turned their best mercenaries against them. The whole of Shinekeep will be sucking up to them for weeks. Pholtus -the righteous god- will eat well tonight, all those clerics worshipping at his feet, at my parent’s feet.”

Amira looked deep into the flames, unbridled with a cathartic freedom that the Aasimar released in her. Beneath that black sky, she felt protection for the first time. And with that came the rage. 

“All of their golden pedestals…” She sneered, crushing the poster and tossing it into the fire. “How very _ human _ of them.”

“They searched for a cure, of course. Scoured the entire countryside for potions, spells, anything that would end the Hyde family shame. My mother used to come long after I was asleep; I’d wake to find her staring at me underneath the moonlight. I think she wanted one night for me to just stop breathing. My father was the one who’d crawl in bed with me, filling my head with lullabies and bedtime stories of what I had to do. All I had to do was change. I had to be a good girl. I had to be obedient, study hard, and say my prayers every night. The end never came. And, they stopped coming.”

Yasha stared at the barebacked Tiefling, exposed and bleeding before her. Silent, she stitched with a harsh efficiency, but it did not halt the girl’s story. “When I was five, my parents moved me to the castle dungeons. There, they instilled the wrath of Pholtus on my skin. Holy exorcisms, beatings, tortures, I took the lot of it. What child wouldn’t, just to be deemed righteous in their parent’s eyes?” 

“So, when the high priest Keeper Solaris came knocking on our door, making promises only the devil could keep, well… they didn’t refuse.” Amira’s words cracked as the haunted memories played out before her. She stumbled over the words that would portray the blackness she saw that night so long ago. The full moon. The feel of the rope as they bound her -a child- to the pyre. His thick, grubby hands on her face as he held her face down. Her screams. The slash of the holy man’s blade; the blood & blindness that followed. Fear choked the words out of her before she could speak.

“ After that, they tossed me to The Ringmaster. A carnival of devils & death, run by witches, tricksters, & fighters, all without ever stepping foot into the Seven Hells.  I was his champion, his pet, and every day he gave me a command. He tossed a single sword into the arena, his instructions clear and always obeyed. I fought and I killed and I gave him his show.”

Yasha reached forward and gently touched the gnarly patch of scars where her eye would’ve been. With her bloody thumb, She wiped a streak of red across the Tiefling’s forehead, anointing her with her own blood. The two saw themselves staring back from the face of the other, each one admiring the strengths they thought lacking in themselves. Silence permeated the air and Amira waited for a response, for any sign of comfort or registration in the barbarian’s face. 

After a moment’s pause, Yasha drew her hand swiftly across Amira’s cheek. The hard slap stung the Tiefling’s skin, sending a crack reverberating into the night air. Amira blinked slowly, instantly sobered up, but not quite registering what had occurred until the pain started to throb across her face.

“Shit happens.” Yasha said with conviction, “Get over it and move on.”

She got up in a huff, leaving Amira laying there alone, smirking, with her wounded pride. From then on, Yasha and Amira stood no tolerance for each other’s tragic backstories. They were unspoken comrades, practical and efficient. Amira never spoke more than she did that first night -she didn’t have to- and instead relied on a quiet pint of ale to do most of the talking for them. 

One night, Amira found Yasha laid out on a grassy hill, staring out at the dark clouds which lingered on the horizon. Sharp flashes of light and a soft rumbling of thunder greeted them. The beauty struck her, of course, but it faded, somewhat lost on Amira’s unworldly mind. What struck her was the silence. Amira looked on at the landscape from their perch high on the hill. Dark greens and grays as rolling hills expanded endless to the horizon, dotted with forests and fields. A few scattered farms held candles in their windowsills, but no cow mooed. Not a single dog barked. There was no sound of blades clashing or blood being spilled. Amira sat down, taking in the solitude, the crisp night air, and the freedom she found in it.

She sat there, awkwardly for a few moments, trying to find the words to explain the thoughts that ran through her mind. Words were lost on her. Amira fiddled with a small token of wood and tossed it between her hands as she tried -and failed- to show her inadequate appreciation. She handed Yasha the figurine, hoping it would say what she didn’t want to.

Yasha looked it over, holding a small, carved wolf in her fingers. It was small, a tiny thing, but had been crafted well.

“Looks like crap.” She declared curtly, before pocketing the gift. Yasha leaned back on one arm, gesturing to the night abyss, “Well, is that everything you hoped for?”

Amira smirked. They had found in one each other an appreciation they had never felt before. She looked up at the stars and the destiny that laid written between them.

“Jury’s still out, but man, you can’t deny that view.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two was updated and finalized on 1/3/19. Enjoy!


	3. Mollymauk

She never quite did well in the city. All of taverns, the people. Everything was so damn  _ claustrophobic _ . Freedom, turned out, didn’t quite agree with Amira. When you spend a lifetime in a cage, you forget what it means to step outside those bars. So, she’d slip a coin or two to the tavernkeep, bought herself a convenient lie & three or four beers, and headed out to the streets of Killbarrow. 

Most of the time she found it around the docks, any place with loose trade and even looser morals. All around her she saw desperate people. A mother with a sickly baby, trading favors for a cure. A fisherman with a rotten catch, tossing fish back into the ocean and taking his hunger out on the lad who apprenticed under him. A greasy, lanky boy standing on a corner, waiting for his next customer. 

She flashed a few gold. The lad slipped a small glass vial into her hand. She walked away. Quick. Efficient. Painless.  

All around her Amira saw desperate people. She was one of them. 

A few blocks over, Amira stuck the vial up her nose and inhaled. Sweet and spicy. Her mind hazed over instantly, quieting the unpleasant voices running through her head. The tension melted from her body and sparkles drifted over her eyes. She sat down, letting the drugs take her. Out of the corner of her eye, a streak of purple surprised her. She turned her head, but saw no one. All was quiet. Amira tilted her head back and went back into the fog. 

“Pick a card, my friend, any card.” 

The next morning, Mollymauk stood before her as the others packed up their gear, fanning out a display of ornate black and gold cards that had a faint glimmer of wonder engraved into the paper. Amira glanced at the cards and then back up the ostentatious Tiefling: baubles & trinkets dangled from his horns and a flowery peacock adorned the side of his neck. She didn’t like any of it, his false promises, his tricks, or his charm. With a scoff, Amira shoved his hands away and the cards fell, landing in a puddle of mud. She stormed off. 

“Suit yourself.” Molly called after her. 

Deep, agonizing terror had begun to creep into Amira’s dreams, bringing her back to that night in the castle courtyards. It was always that night. They threw her -a girl of 11- on the pyre, binding her arms and legs roughly with rope. She remembered looking at the golden crystal windows that let in such wondrous light into Shinekeep’s halls, now blackened underneath a midnight air. The sun had gone and a new moon had taken its place. 

Her parents watched her, stone-faced, and fear began to rise up in her chest. “Please, mama.  Don’t make me do this. Please, I’ll be good! I’ll be good, I promise!” 

Keeper Solaris whispered poisoned words into their ears. Words they welcomed. Words they worshipped. He turned on her, brimming with disgust and hatred for the girl. An ivory knife glimmered in his hands. Amira began to scream.

Solaris grasped her by the jaw, cutting off her pleas with fear and brute strength. Torchlight danced off his face as his lips curled back. He pressed the knife to her cheek. Amira watched him frozen, terrorfied and helpless. Her childish denial was gone; she didn’t struggle. This was real. How was this real? She winced at the sharp pain as the first droplets of blood began to flow. Amira tried to pull away, kicking and thrashing underneath the ropes. A small smile came to Solaris’ lips.  

A sharp pain. Then agony.

“Oh, dear thing.” He said, “We all must chase after our demons.”

Mollymauk shook her gently and tried to rouse her from her nightmares. Amira whelped, startled and trapped in her own imagined horror, and she struggled against his grip. Her eyes flickered open. She saw the lavender Tiefling standing over her and she snatched her arm from his hand.

“Get the hell off of me.” Amira said, standing up and not meeting his eyes. She gave him a shove. “You ever touch me again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Of course.” He curtseyed, letting her storm off into the woods. It was becoming a pattern of thiers.

One night, Amira didn’t come back at all. She wandered the streets of the local town with a heavy heart, clouded thoughts, and a belly full of ale. She wandered slovenly towards the local tavern, the laughter and music flowing even at the late hour, and Amira soon found herself standing at the doorway looking in. A small crowd two people thick had gathered around a table where two old gnomes danced in a circle on the tabletop. At another, a young lad threw down his cards in a huff as the gentleman next to him shoveled a pile of coin into his purse. At the bar, two retired chugged down pints like they were 20 years younger. Amira stood there, pining, and took another long swig of her flask, finishing it off. This is what her life was supposed to have been.

Two young drunkards staggered out into the cold -the scent of beer on their breath- and collided with the red Tiefling, knocking her back into the street.

“Wooowee!Look what we got here, Markus: a bonafide devil’s child.”  One of them hollered, eyeing her up and down and looking for trouble. “What should we do with her?”

He tossed an empty stein at her feet and the glass shattered on the cobblestone. Amira recoiled, but the man gripped the collar of her shirt, bringing her in close. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Nah, she’s not worth our time. Look at her, Wilde; she’s drunker than we are.” Markus said, looking at his friend with a smug smile. “That’s what these demons do, you see. They come into our town, sorrier than just about anything, living off the scraps we give them. Never met an honest one in my life. Tramp scum.”

He pursed his lips and spat, a wet glob of saliva dripping down Amira’s face. The man let go of her, chuckling as he turned and headed down the road into town. His friend followed. Slumped over in her inebriation, Amira stood there watching them leave.

A sullen rage filled her heart as she wiped the spit from her face. All the frustration and anger she had buried and held onto came bubbling up to the surface. Amira drew her scimitar.

“You start a fight with me, you better finish it.” She growled.

Surprisingly, the two drunkards didn’t run, fueled by a courage given to them by ale and idiocy. The first one, Wilde, swung at her with unarmed fists. He swung too high. Amira ducked and sliced upward in an arc with her blade. A small splatter of blood and two fingers fell on the town’s cobblestone. Before the man could utter a scream, however, she pulled back and hit him with the blunt of her weapon. Wilde cupped his now crumpled nose with his hand, crying in pain as blood began to pour over his hands. He fell to his knees.

Markus, the other one, pulled a dagger from his belt. The glint of steel shimmered in the moonlight and Amira dodged a quick jab, weaving under his blade. She swiped at his calf as she pushed past, blood now trickling down to his ankles. Once more, Amira spun and sliced open his arm on the other side, coming face to face with the man and staring him in the face. She didn’t even give him a chance to beg. Amira gouged her blade into his belly and pushed him to the ground. Crimson gushed into his hands as he desperately tried to staunch the bleeding of his own insides.

Amira stood there and listened to him whimper. A smile crept on her lips.

Suddenly, she felt cold steel touch the back of her neck. A guardsman dressed in silver armor stood at her back with a sword in hand. Amira tensed.

“Uh uh uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A voice called from the shadows and Mollymauk stepped out from an alleyway. Amira could've sworn she saw the tattooed snake on his arm shine in the shadows, his scales glittering with arcane energy. A flick of Molly’s tongue and the snake curled up around his arm, disappearing up his sleeve. “Go! Find the man some help or do something else vaguely useful while the girl and I talk this out.”

The guard, unsure of what to do, but too nervous of the newcomer to say otherwise, ran towards town, calling for reinforcements. A loud sigh and Mollymauk reached into his silk robes, pulling out his tarot deck and gestured them towards Amira.

“Pick a card, any card.” He said, stepping out into the moonlight.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Amira yelled, slapping the cards out of her way.

“I’ve have come to tell you why you are so miserable. And to save the day, of course.”

“Oh. fuck off.” Amira sat down on the sidewalk. A fierce headache was forming in the back of her skull. She unscrewed the lid of her flask and took a swig, only to be dissatisfied with the lack of whiskey she found there. She tossed it aside with a grimace.

“You are a woman who doesn’t know what to do with her own freedom,” He remarked, approaching the downtrodden Tiefling and sitting beside her.

“Why the fuck do you care?”

“I don’t. Not particularly,” Molly shrugged. “But, you remind me of someone. You see, I once had a brother by the name of Charlemagne. An older brother. And good old Charlie wanted nothing more to improve the lot we’d been given in life. He wanted respect. Fame. Fortune. Girls. He wanted to make a name for himself. So, naturally, he joined the circus. I followed him, of course, promised to keep him safe. When he drank too much, I kept the ruffians off of him. I paid off his neglected whores, got him those fine chemical vices you seem to enjoy. He was a brute, my brother, but I kept my promise.”

“So, what happened to him?”

“Oh, he broke his neck. Fell off the trapeze 120 feet in the air in the middle of the third act. Crushed into the dirt, died instantly.”

Amira paused and stared incredulously at the showman. “Is any word of that story true?

“Not a word.” Molly said. “The point is hubris is a trait that only  _ I _ am suited for. Now, usually, I like games, but you my friend are playing a dangerous one. And, frankly dear, I’m tired of babysitting.”

Molly got up with a flourish of his coat. Amira stood and met his eyes.

“So, what then?” She got in close and grabbed his collar. “You think you know me? You think you’re gonna solve this problem by throwing me to the guards? Because let me tell you, you will never see me in a cage again.”

“Let us make one thing clear, my charming girl. We are both carnies, you and me, whether you care to believe it or not. And carnies look after their own.” Molly pushed Amira off him and brushed down his coat, rolling his eyes as he did. They both began to hear the clunking of metal armor stampeding down the road. “It seems my charming personality has worn off. For now, it is time to make our exit. Alleyway. Now.”

Mollymauk dove back into the shadows. Amira saw the flicker of torchlight coming from down the street and briefly weighed her chances. With a scowl, she dashed into darkness after the man. Quickly and quietly, they ducked and weaved through the back streets and, together, they made their way through the underbelly of the town. Eventually, the two of them came across a small root cellar in the middle of the street. The home attached to it was hushed and the windows were dark.

“Come on.” Molly opened the doors, looking from side to side. “We’ll hide in here.”

Amira climbed the ladder down into the basement, the temperature cooling slightly as she descended.

“What is this place?” She asked as she dropped down from the ladder.

“This, my dear, is your freedom.” Mollymauk said as he joined her. Darkness hung in the air. “Yasha, if you would, please.”

Two beefy arms grappled her from behind. Instinctually, Amira kicked and thrashed trying to free herself from her grip, but the Aasimar’s arms held true. Mollymauk came and took Amira’s weapons, slipping them on his belt, while Yasha dragged Amira to the corner of the room. Amira kicked off the ground and briefly sent the barbarian backwards, but Yasha threw her forward instead. Stumbling, the red Tiefling hit metal and looked to see thick black bars surrounding her on all four sides. Yasha had thrown her in a cell.

Amira’s heart sunk and she tried to run past her friend, but Yasha had already slammed the cell door shut. A clang and the door was locked, the keys jingling at Yasha’s side. Amira shook the door with the fury and fright of a trapped animal.

“Let me go!” She yelled and spat at the lavender Tiefling. “Let me go or I swear I’ll skin you alive. I’ll kill you! I swear, you will pay for this!”

Unimpressed, Molly stepped up to face the caged Amira. “It’s time to stop being so one-dimensional, my dear.”

As he walked away, Amira reached through the bars grasping for the keys on Yasha’s side, overwhelmed with desperation. “Yasha. Please. C’mon. We’re friends, right? We’re friends. Please, just let me out and we’ll all be friends.”

Yasha looked at her with a resigned sadness and followed Mollymauk out of the cellar. Amira begged and banged on the cage they had placed her in, drowning in fear.

“Please, I’ll be good! I’ll be good, I promise! Please!”

Silence.

“PLEASE!”

Amira heard the cellar doors slam shut.

She sat in that cell for three weeks. It took her three days to stop screaming, to calm down and face her worst nightmares. Every night the nightmares came, the same blade, same poisoned words. Every night she woke up screaming. Mollymauk watched her sort out her demons from the other side of the bars, watching her pitiful misery resolve into stubborn determination. He watched as she clawed at her own arms and yelled at imaginary beings, figures from her past that haunted her mind. He watched as she trained, doing pull-ups, sit-ups to the point of exhaustion. Slowly, Molly watched Amira change from a simple slave fighter to a champion, right before his eyes.

One day, Molly found her bunched up in a corner, sweating out the final remnants of the suude. He sat down beside her and laid his head back against the bars. Without a word, he pulled out a small glass vial filled of yellow powder and offered. Amira looked at it, long and hard, yet turned it away. A proud smile crept up on his lips.

“Now, it’s time to see if there’s more to you than meets the eyes.” Mollymauk said, reaching into his robes. Once more, he fanned out that deck of ornate black and gold cards, engraved with a glimmer of wonder.

Amira slowly reached up, her fingers shaking, and drew a card. She looked him in the eyes, gratitude in her face for the second chance he had given her.

“Thank you, Molly.” She said and gave the card back to him.

The lavender Tiefling examined her selection, his eyebrows perking up at the choice.

“The Aeon. Now that's interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three was re-uploaded and finalized as of 1/4/19!


	4. Beauregard

Dust and rocks. That’s what Amira saw, crumpled into the dirt staring at the cave ceiling. She blinked a few times, trying to process what exactly had happened before the earth had crumbled around her. Coughing, Amira brushed the rubble off of her and sat up. She rubbed the dust from her eyes. She groaned as a fierce headache began to throb at the back of her head.  

Amira glanced around, looking to share in the dumb luck that she was alive. A flash of blue caught her eye, buried underneath a pile of rocks. That familiar blue shawl. She stumbled to her feet, limping slightly as a dull pain nagged at her ankle. Furiously, she tossed rock after rock aside. They landed in the dirt beside her with a thud. She rolled a boulder off of Beau’s side. Amira pulled her arm, rocks tumbling to the side as she pulled her friend from the rubble. Her hands shook as she put her ear to Beauregard’s chest.

Beau’s eyes were closed; she wasn’t breathing.

_Oh, no._

The group had found themselves deep underground; their footsteps echoed on the hard sandstone. Torchlight danced across cavern walls, projecting shadowed images of the adventurers as they traversed the stone pathways.

“What does this thing look like again?” Nott complained, long past the point of exhaustion.

Caleb pulled out a loose, crumpled piece of parchment and showed the image to Nott. There, sketched in dark ink, was a large gem cased in silver and etched with arcane markings. “The Heart of Dimiscus. It was forged from the soulstone of a bronze dragon and blessed with the gifts of Serenrae.”

“It’s the only way cure the plague inflicted on Forthtown.” Fjord explained.

“I don’t see why we can’t just kill something instead. I don’t know why we have to fetch the stupid rock.” Beauregard interjected, looking uneasy at the stalactites hanging from the ceiling. “Especially in this place.”

“All of those sick people! All the coughing and sweating and wheezing and vomiting…” Jester shivered dramatically, “They give me the heebie jeebies.”

“Our cleric, ladies and gentleman.” Molly muttered under her breath.

“Anyway, the stronghold is buried northeast of here. We should be arriving there shortly, so keep an eye out.” Fjord said, his eyes on the map in his hands.

The group walked around a bend in the cavern tunnel and came upon a deep pit, about 15 feet wide, which broke their path. Amira looked down from the edge, kicking a rock over the cusp and watching it descend into darkness. She waited. A pause and… clop. The stone echoed as it hit the ground. She put hand out to stop Fjord -still fixated on his map- from walking over the side.

“Hey, Amira!” Beauregard called from behind.

“-Oh no.” Caleb sighed.

“-Not again.” Fjord said.

“Let’s see who can jump over the pit with the least head start!” Beau playfully punched her in the shoulder, egging her on, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!”

“-Why does she do this?” Caleb questioned.

“-She always loses.” Fjord said, exasperated.

Amira studied the monk, never sure what to do with the woman’s unfiltered masculine optimism, and then studied the pit. She acquiesced with a simple shrug of her shoulders.

“Here we go.” Both Caleb and Fjord hung their heads, not looking on.

Beauregard took about ten steps back from the pit, taking a knee to brace herself. With a burst of energy, she bolted for the gorge and sprang. She came close to clearing the gap, an inch more and she would have made it with grace and ease. As she leapt, however, her foot clipped the edge on the other side and she tripped, faceplanting in the dirt.

“I’m ok!” She yelled, with a mouth full of dust. She stood up and rubbed the dirt off of her now skinned knees.

The gang watched as a few pebbles came loose from the cliffside and clattered down into the depths. And with those pebbles, came stones and then boulders and soon the entire gorge was crumbling down around them.

“Everyone get back!” Fjord yelled. The cavern rumbled. The walls shook. Stone began to fall from the ceiling.

“IT’S A CAVE IN!” Molly grabbed Jester and pulled her along as he ran.

Caleb turned and picked Nott up by the collar, throwing her away from the falling rock. A crack formed at Amira’s feet. Her eyes followed it as the crack expanded and jutted upwards along the wall, to the ceiling, and across the gorge to where Beau stood, still awkwardly trying to find her balance on the other side. An eerie cascading rumble followed that sent a chill down Amira’s spine.

“Beau! Get out of the way!” Fjord yelled desperately, but his calls were drowned out by the sound of crashing rock.

Amira sprang into action and dashed towards the gorge. She yelled at Fjord, gesturing him to get back to the others. “Get out! Go! Now!”

Amira felt like she was running in slow motion. Her feet dug into the now crumbling earth as she ran, dodging the now free-falling boulders. She focused on the path opposite the chasm; A sense of determination fell over her as everything faded from her mind. In. Out. In. Out. Her breathing heaved as she gained speed. Amira leapt.

Amira tackled Beauregard as she came down hard on the other side. The ceiling crashed down around them and the air went dark.

“Beau!” Amira yelled. “Beau, wake up!”

She slapped Beau gently on the cheek and shook her, but got no response. Amira clamped her hands together and began pumping on Beau’s chest in hard, rhythmic movements. She paused. Still, nothing. With both a grimace and a gasp, she closed her lips around Beauregard’s mouth and breathed outwards till she saw her chest rise.

Amira saw a dumbstruck smile float to Beau’s face as her eyes fluttered open. “Am I in heaven? If I knew you would kiss me, I would’ve caused the cave in sooner.”

With a heavy roll of the eyes, Amira stops, falling back on her hands. She scolded the monk. “I thought you were dead!”

“Not with those kisses, I’m not.”

“Oh, get up!” Amira said, getting to her feet. “We need to regroup with the others.”

“I mean, I’ve always found the whole brooding thing hot, but-” Beau got to her feet, only to wince and stumble as her leg buckled. Amira caught her before she could fall. They looked down to see blood oozing out of Beau’s foot. The sickly sight of cracked bone shone through the crimson. Beau let out a slow, worried whistle. “Oh, man. I don’t think I can walk.”

Amira quickly pulled out the healing kit from Beau’s pack and set to work. Beauregard looked on, pale. Amira recognized the tang of fear in the monk’s eyes.

“Oh, man, I’m not gonna make it out of here, am I?” Beau asked. Her voice quivered, trying to  assuage the rise of panic in her chest.

“Hey! You know why you lose bets all the time?” Amira finished off the wrap, ripping the bandage off with her teeth. She offered Beau a swig of her flask before slinging both of Beau’s arms around the back of her neck, picking her up, piggy back style. “You never look straight ahead.”

And, so, with a heavy foot forward and with Beauregard enjoying the ride, the two of them slowly began to traverse the cavern tunnels. It was a long, difficult haul as the Tiefling carried the monk along. Sweat beaded Amira’s forehead and she could hear her heart thumping in her ears. About three hours passed until Amira, distracted by the intense exercise, stopped suddenly at the base of a tall, looming structure which blocked their path. Amira helped Beau to the ground, allowing the monk to shift her weight onto her and off the leg.

It was a beautiful, intricate tower made of white alabaster stone. Ornate gold and blue inlay decorated the monument. A mural decorated the entrance, depicting a serene scene of angels and doves parting the clouds as the sun’s light shone down on a darkened earth. It was stunning.

“Whoa…” Beau gasped, an enthusiastic grin coming over her. “Amira, I think we found it!”

Amira’s eyes traced the structure over a hundred feet upwards and she saw a small opening in the cave, connected to the obelisk by a small rope bridge. “The path continues up there.”

As she entered the tower, Amira couldn’t help but be amazed at the height of it. Stairs spiraled upwards and lead a singular platform. But, as she examined the path, a sense of foreboding washed over her. The stairs were wooden and probably a century old, while an eerie creak sounded as the tower swayed on its foundation.

“C’mon!” With a huff, Amira pressed forward, Beauregard limping severely at her side, and they began the climb. They took it slow, allowing Beauregard to catch her breath, but with every passing moment, the creaking of the stairs worsened with the weight of the adventurers. Eventually, they rounded a corner only to find the stairs to have collapsed long ago. They couldn’t jump it -the gap was over 30 feet wide- yet a small stone trim circled around where the stairs had previously attached, giving them a few inches of stone to work with.

Beau looked at Amira with that over-optimistic, slightly idiotic look that came over her when she had an idea. “We could always climb it.”

So that’s how Amira, a Tiefling who’d always relied on her brawn rather than her dexterity, came to be dangling over a 50ft drop on the wall of a tower, underground, with a monk in tow. Her fingers held a death grip on any crevasse she could find as she slowly but surely inched herself forward. While Amira was making sure she didn’t look down, Beauregard was having a blast. Even on one leg, she hopped along the edge with ease, ever agile. The two crossed the gap in concentrated silence until, at last, they reached the point where the edge ended and the stairs began. Unfortunately, there was still about a 10-foot gap in between.

Amira sized up the gap and then fixated on where she needed to land. With a heave, she pushed off the wall and grabbed the landing, pulling herself up and over the edge of the stairs. She beaconed for Beauregard to follow. “C’mon, I got you.”

Biting her lip, Beau inched to the edge of the gap and looked from the stairs to the gap and back again. With a yelp, she too jumped. She caught the edge of the stairs, her body dangling, until a wooden board suddenly snapped from its hinge. Beau fell, screaming as she lost her grip on the board, until two red hands reached over and grabbed her by the arm.

Amira groaned, struggling to lift the full weight of the female monk. Her face twisted with strain as she tried to save her friend from the abyss that waited below. The stairs began to buckle under the weight of them and Amira could hear the popping of hinges in the distance. Realization dawned on Beauregard’s face and then acceptance.

“Amira, you have to let me go. The whole thing is gonna collapse!” She begged, with a small comforting smile. “Let’s face it. I was never meant to leave this cave alive.”

Beauregard’s hands began to slip from Amira’s grasp, the sweat making it impossible to hold on. Her forearms bulged as she pulled upward, gritting her teeth.

“No!”

With a last burst of strength, Amira heaved the monk upward, gaining enough momentum to pull her to safety. The two fell on their backs onto cool white stone, breathing hard. A few moments passed as they laid there in disbelief, not quite sure if they were alive.

A slight glittering of golden light woke them from their shock. There before them stood an ornate stone, suspended on an alabaster pedestal, with a star of light shining in the middle. The Heart of Dimiscus.

Goofy smiles came to them both as adrenaline made them stupidly gleeful.

“Hey, Amira.” Beau said, as she playfully beat on the Tiefling’s chest. “We did it!”

The two of them descended into delirious laughter. Beau collapsed to the floor, nose to the ground and a thumbs up in the air.

“gods, I’m fucking tired.”

Days later, the two of them walked the streets of Forthtown as its citizens awakened to a new christening of their city. The coughing and fevers were gone. No more illness. No more death. Smiles and laughter were abound as children and adults alike rejoiced in a community reborn. A small girl ran up to Beau, hugging her fiercely around the waist, as the monk braced herself on her crutches.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She squealed.

The girl’s mother, a worn woman with graying hair, followed and walked up to the two of them. “There are no words at how grateful we all are. Truly. My family wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.”

Beauregard glanced knowingly at the Tiefling that stood awkwardly beside her. “Please, thank Amira. She’s the one who saved us.”

The woman looked at Amira with fresh eyes as she saw the warrior in a new light. Gently, she placed a hand on her cheek, thanked her sincerely, and joined her daughter.

Amira watched as the family walked down the street, seeing the mother rejoice in her child. Happiness decorated both of their faces and Amira looked sheepishly away. Her heart was touched, heavy with a feeling she couldn’t recognize. She looked at the monk, grateful. In all her years, she had taken thousands of lives, enjoyed it even.

She’d never saved one before.


	5. Nott

Everywhere she looked, the town was burning. Amira could feel the heat of the fire as she stood there in the road, watching embers dance up into the night sky. Shadowed beasts rushed from house to house and she could hear growling as they rampaged, destroying the lives they left in their wake. Desperate screams echoed in the night air, beyond help. It was the screaming that sent chills down her back. Amira had long known the sound of helplessness, of a fight long over before it had really begun. 

There was nothing left to do but give up. Blood trickled down her face, staining her lips with the taste of rust. She didn’t know where her scimitars had gone to, long forgotten in the chaos. She wandered aimlessly, without purpose, as the town slowly crashed down around her.

They had lost.

Amira passed Jester furiously stuffing bandages into a belly wound as Molly laid there in the dirt, bleeding out. Caleb slumped against the remains of a brick wall, his head slumped as the remains of his arcane magics flickered on his fingertips. In the shape of a hummingbird, Frumpkin flittered above him. She saw Fjord silently sobbing in the street, the mangled corpse of a woman in his grasp. She saw Beau limp towards him, her arm unmoving at her side.

She watched it all, as a familiar numbness crept up inside her. The sun would rise the next morning. Would all of them make it ‘till then? A cold insecurity wriggled its way into her gut and her stomach churned. Amira clenched her jaw. Death was coming. It was only a matter of time.

As the flames died down and darkness overtook the scenery, Amira found herself in the middle of the town plaza. The echoes of a vibrant town surrounded her. Bakeries, cobblers, even a small temple all stood in rubble, their skeletons charred and unsalvageable.

Yet from the ruins, Amira heard a soft weeping. Nott knelt in the middle of town square, caressing something that Amira couldn’t quite see, and she slowly shook as she cried. The ruined mess of a building stood before them, reduced to ash. Dozens of small, blackened rocks all laid in a circle around the girl and Amira cringed at the thought of Nott’s new morbid collection.

She only took a few steps towards the goblin girl before she heard a crunch beneath her foot. Amira looked down to see one of the rocks, lumpy and scorched, had crumbled beneath her foot. The remnants of a plaque laid next to it and Amira slowly picked it up, wiping the dirt and debris from it. One letter revealed and then the next as she slowly uncovered its message.

Striken, Amira looked back in horror at the sprawling scene of destruction that laid before her. Those blackened rocks sprawled out, dozens and dozens of them: charred, burnt, unrecognizable. But, Nott knew what they had been. And she wept because of it.

Amira dropped the sign. She looked down at the remained of what crumbled beneath her boot, two bulbous black pits staring back on her. They hadn’t been rocks at all. They were skulls. A gurgled cry erupted from Amira as she took a step back. Nott looked up at her with those large, yellow eyes. Tears fell down her face. 

“They tried to run. All of them. They tried to run, Amira.” 

Her heart broke as she saw the look of a girl coming face to face with the cruelty of this world for the first time. Amira saw herself staring back: that little girl standing in the arena for the first time with a blade at her feet. The numbness in her stomach fell apart as Amira enveloped the girl in a tight hug, pressing her to her chest. Slowly, she scooped Nott up in her arms, a tear in her eyes as the girl sobbed. Amira began walking back to the others.

Her boot came down on the sign as she stepped over it. It read, ‘With open hearts and open doors: Mrs. Paterson’s Orphanage.’

They walked away.

Amira knew Nott was slipping. She saw it on her face as they walked through town the next morning. A baker pulled along a pile of debris, trying to salvage what remained of his oven. A woman and child worked their way through what they remained of their home, searching for answers. Nott stared at the ground and refused to look at them.

“What even matters anymore?” She growled under her breath.  

The group was waiting for them on the main road, just past the town square. A woman with graying hair in a tattered blue cotton dress picked through the rubble of the orphanage. The bodies had gone, but the memory of last night remained fresh in their minds. Nott walked up to Caleb and took his hand as the others embraced one another. Mollymauk, leaning on a cane with his ribcage wrapped in bandages, cracked a joke, wincing as he laughed. Fjord casually took her hand in his and leaned his forehead against hers. She could breathe again.

The Mighty Nein said their somber hellos to one another though they lingered in the town, ready to say goodbye but unsure how. Nott glance timidly at the ruins of the orphanage, preferring to stare at her feet instead.

Amira knew the crossroads that laid before her; she recognized the path between hate and sanity. Amira had made her decision long ago that first night in the arena. Bitterness had festered in her heart ever since. How much energy had she poured into her anger? How long had she daydreamed of blood? Of vengeance? Amira was tired. She had been for a long time, she knew that now. She wouldn’t let Nott make the same decision she did. As the group slowly made their leave, Amira’s gazed lingered on the orphanage and she pondered the ashes. 

“Do you want to want to help them?” She asked.

Nott’s expression was blank as Amira knelt before the small goblin. She repeated the question, softer. Emotion bloomed in Nott’s eyes, a strange but familiar mixture of sadness and happiness. She nodded and Amira smiled, taking Nott’s hand in hers.

“We’re gonna hang back for a little while. We still have some business in town.” She called to the others. 

The others accepted her statement without question. Bonds were tenuous after all and sometimes people had to work things out for themselves. They said their goodbyes; Jester stuffed Nott’s pockets with stale pastries while Mollymauk tipped an imaginary top hat towards Amira. Caleb caressed Nott’s cheek with a brush of his hand and a kiss on the forehead.

“I’ll take care of her,” she reassured him.

Caleb wiped a tear away from his eye, trying to hide his emotion. “Ja. I know you will.”

Amira gave a comforting squeeze as Nott watched Caleb walk away for the first time. They turned towards the orphanage. Amira tossed her friend up on her broad shoulders and they set to work.

Amira had a surprising knack for carpentry. She knew how things fit together, how to make them strong. By the end of the next day, she had hammered together a rough frame. She liked the work, taking solace in the labor as she sweated under the midday sun. Amira had tried to teach Nott to wield a hammer, but it ended quickly: with a busted thumb, bared teeth, and a pulverized piece of lumber. So, now, Nott sat on the upper frame, her short legs dangling in the air and a bucket of nails in her lap. She lorded over her stash with great duty, amused with the metal bits and jangling noises, as she handed one to Amira as she finished nailing a board into its place.

It took the two of them a month to get the home back up and running. They slept on cool mounds of hay, while Mrs. Paterson treated them to corn pone and fresh tomatoes. At last, the sound of high-pitched laughter returned to the town center as children ran to and fro.

Amira sat on the steps, the building at her back. Pride swelled in her heart as she looked on at the door, the awnings, the workmanship she had put into the place. For the first time, she had created something to be admired and she took a cautious comfort in the feeling. Nott sat at her side and, together, they sipped lemonade and watched the children play.

Nott subtly pulled her flask from beneath her wrappings and slipped a touch of liquor in her drink. She froze nervously as Amira caught her eye, but the Tiefling only smirked and tipped her glass towards the girl. Nott filled her glass with a dash of the liquor. They shared a moment, bound together by scars, but also healed by them. The sight of charred skulls and burnt bodies no longer haunted their minds, at least not on good days. From the ruins, they had found peace. 

A young boy ran up to Nott and stopped a few inches too close. He had shaggy brown hair, a gap between his two front teeth, and a ball in his hand.

“You look weird.” He said.

Nott shrugged, unsure whether to be bothered by the boy’s awkward comment or the fact that he didn’t seem to be bothered at all. “So do you.”

The boy tagged her and ran off, kicking the ball at his feet. He joined the others and they all raced through the square with their game. Nott paused for a moment, hesitant at this new invitation. She looked at Amira expectantly.  

“Well, go on.”

Nott tore off her porcelain mask and it clattered on the steps. Her little feet scurried down the steps as she ran to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was edited & republished on 1/8/19.


	6. Caleb

Rest and relaxation was a funny thing. It meant something different to everybody. For Jester and Beau, it meant shopping. Nott would dash around, stealing buttons and picking up weird trinkets that took her fancy. Molly flirted with the local princes and whores. 

Fjord liked to walk the city and, always, Amira inevitably trailed after him.  The two of them wandered, watching the people as they passed. Gnomes, dwarves, half-elves: Fjord told their stories to her, always finding a happy ending. Amira liked the game. She liked the way he used his words to fuel others’ happiness. Amira liked him.

Fjord had stopped at a market stall along the main street of Stilben. A shiny, antique coin had caught his eye and the vendor was in the middle of swindling the half-orc out of a small fortune. Amira lingered behind, gazing down the street to the docks beyond. She watched the ships come and go, sailing on the calm dark green waters. Almost at once, she was overcome by claustrophobia. Vendors shouted from every angle. Children ran by, chasing each other with wooden swords. Waterwatch guards patrolled, their swords not so wooden. Everything was so  _ loud _ . 

Amira couldn’t catch her breath. Every itch and flicker on her skin screamed for attention. The buildings loomed large over her. She needed space; she needed… She needed- For fuck’s sake, she couldn’t think. Down the street, a female half-elf leaned against a lamp-post, one hand in her pocket and a subtle side glance to passerbys.

She stood there, fixated, but she didn’t allow herself to take a step forward. Amira tried to tell herself that she didn’t want it. But how could she lie to herself, when every fibre of her craved that sweet chemical haze? Just one taste, that’s what she wanted. It was all she wanted.

“Amira?” Fjord spoke from behind her. He laced her hand in his and gently squeezed. 

Amira felt the tension slowly ebb away and she could breathe again. It was so easy, being with him. She yanked her hand away. 

“I’m fine.” She barked and rushed away.

Every now and then, Caleb and Amira would find each other in moments of stillness. Amira always found him in the library, away from the others. His nose stuck in a book -and his mind equally as far away- with a pile a tomes at his feet. She never ask what he was searching for in those dusty pages, but she took a seat nonetheless, with her back against the stacks. She never enjoyed reading, but she enjoyed the quiet. 

“ Meine Götter-” 

Amira had been staring at the ceiling for an hour when he spoke his first words. Amira hadn’t even looked up before Caleb leapt up from his chair, frantically flipping between pages. Books were thrown aside. Scrolls were tossed away. At last, he slammed a small, blue bound book in the center of the table. 

“”Ein Wunsch...nutzlos...aber-” He muttered to himself, an incoherent string of words. Caleb’s eyes seemed crazed as they darted wildly back and forth, preoccupied by his own inner musings. “Aber _drei_ Wünsche… Ja, Ich kann....”

“Caleb?” Amira spoke up, worried.

The wizard jumped slightly, as if he’d forgotten the ruby Tiefling that now stood at his side. He chuckled to himself, high pitched and nervous. 

“I have done it.” His voice cracked. Tears brimmed at his eyes. 

“Done what?”

“The book, everyone said the creatures were myths...” Caleb ignored her question and went back to his pages. “Myths. Maps. It’s all right here. It’s all there for the taking-”

Caleb stopped. His brows furrowed as he let out a long, irritated groan. He slowly closed his eyes and winced. “I need you to go with me.”

“What? No. You haven’t even told me-“

“I am sorry about this…” Caleb muttered a few words. She felt a pleasant wooziness drifted over her, like honey. Stars twinkled in Caleb’s eyes. All of his rough edges washed away. “Go get the horses, Amira.” 

And with a twist of his hand, Amira obeyed.  

\---

Amira spat a mouth full of blood onto the dirt floor of her cell. Her head throbbed. Her nose was broken for the sixth -no, seventh- time. The warm tang of rust filled her mouth as she tilted her head back and -with one firm tug- yanked out a broken tooth. In the distance, the sound of blades clashing, yelling, followed by the roaring of applause. The air was cool. The clay ceiling above her shook and dust spilled into the air. Not for the first time, Amira wished the whole thing would collapse on top of her. 

By now, her right eye was tight and puffy, nearly swollen shut. Amira passed a hand in front of her own face, trying to judge how much she could see in dim torchlight. It wasn’t much. She grunted to herself, unamused. Tomorrow’s fight would be a challenge. Would she live? Or would she die? Who knew? She scoffed snidely. The thought pleased her.

“You’ve stopped entertaining me.” A silken voice spoke from the other side of the iron bars. The elf’s words flowed like honey, a sickly sweetness in this desolate place deep underground. 

Indignation rose in her chest, but Amira said nothing. Her stomach growled, to spite her. She’d stopped eating four days ago. She kept her eyes to the floor and her mouth shut.

A purple glint shone in his eyes. He wasn’t a weasel of a man. No, he was beautiful, with flowing, jet-black hair and an emerald in each ear. Dressed in a gold, paisley vest, like an ornate flower, he drew you in with perfumes and charm, only to reek of death once you got close. 

“The will to live is a fickle thing, my darling.” He cooed. “And you’re tied to it like a moth to flame.”

He slid a small bowl in between the cell bars. The scraping on stone made her flinch, but a single whiff made her mouth drool. 

“Eat.” The command hung in the air. 

Every hair stood on edge. She didn’t move. 

“Do you want me to punish you? Because that’s always so unpleasant for the both of us, pet.”

“And, what are you going to do on the other side of those bars?” Amira threw the bowl back at him, hoping it would wipe away that smile off his face. But, she didn’t meet his gaze. She was stupid, not brave. She sat there, frozen and afraid, a dog waiting to be beaten.

A white hen feather slipped from the elf’s sleeve and drifted to the floor. Purple runes sparked in his eyes. His visage turned black as smokey tendrils whirled around him; he seemed larger, somehow. He took a step forward, gripping the bars that lined the wall of Amira’s cage. That toothy, predatory smile that haunted her worst nightmares. Amira watched, a curdled scream trapped in her throat. The Ringmaster took a step forward, pressing himself against the bars until they simply melted away and he stepped forward on the other side. 

Her heart stopped. Amira scrambled backwards, letting out a terrified cry. If Amira could’ve run, she would have, but she hit the wall with a thud. Every instinct within her screamed at her to run, even when all she could do was whimper. She slumped to the floor, cornered and quivering.

He stood over her, scowling. He clasped his hand around her throat and pulled Amira to her feet. His lips curled back as he seethed with rage, pressing her face into the rough stone. His grip around her neck tightened. Amira inhaled, choking as he pressed against her windpipe. He clamped her mouth shut. She couldn’t breathe. She grabbed him with both hands as a moment passed and he didn’t let go. 

Her lungs began to burn. She looked at him, questioning. The game was over. He’d made his point. It was time to let her go. His nostrils flared and a sickly, yellow vapor seeped from his hands. It  _ burned _ . Amira pulled away as she felt her skin begin to sizzle, but that only made him squeeze tighter. She tried to kick, to scream, but steadfast he held. Stinging blisters burst open across her neck and face; her skin cracked and peeled. Tears swelled at the corner of her eyes. Every movement, every struggle- everything was on fire.  

“Do not forget that I own you, Amira.” He spoke quietly, digging his fingers into her throat, “Every grain of sand that makes up your pathetic body, every breath that you deign to take in my presence, every fearful, vengeful thought that fills your head when I am around, I own it!”

He released her and Amira fell to the ground in a fit, crying and coughing at the same time. Snot ran down her face. She retched and bile splattered the floor. He yanked her up by the collar of her armor, tossing her forward. Her chin cracked against the clay floor. Amira laid there, wishing she had the courage to die. 

“You will fight.” He seethed. “Or I will find other uses for you.” 

He dragged Amira from her cell. Weakly, she grabbed for the bars, but her hands found no purchase but open air. She felt both in and out of her body. She distanced herself from the pain, while at the same time was consumed by it.  

The gateway was hard to miss. Any resident -no matter how short their stay- got chills at the sight of the green oak portcullis that opened way to the arena of the Jovial Few. Even at half a foot thick, she could still hear the fighting on the the other side. It was only a green door, Amira had to reminded herself. It didn’t mean anything. But as that mighty gate opened, Amira found herself at the threshold of clarity. A choice to be made, sparked from a brief moment of understanding. Light shone in through the doors and blinded her for a moment. 

The Ringmaster cuffed the back of her neck and thrust a silver scimitar in her hand, hissing in her ear.

“Give me an encore.”

Runes sparked in his eyes and all of his rough edges washed away. She stepped out. Sweat trickled down her eyebrows. Her dark brown hair fell around her face in ragged curls. The Ringmaster took his seat, high in the crowd, but his arcane eyes were ever watchful. A thud. Amira turned, as a second scimitar was thrown beside her in the dirt, and all of her choices were tossed away. 

Slowly, Amira picked it up. She grasped the hilt in her hand. She felt the cold, braided inlay of the sword. A roaring wall of applause, like thunder, surrounded her on all sides. 

Amira obeyed.

\---

“Kill it!” 

Amira tackled the djinn to the ground. She crawled on top of him, breathing hard, but with a single goal in mind. The djinn clawed at her eyes. Bone cracked as Amira broke his nose with two heavy punches. Blood sprayed. She wrapped her hands around the creature’s throat.

The wind picked up around her, fast and furious. Sand stung her face as the whirlwind raged. Amira bared her teeth and yelled, part in rage and part in survival. She pressed down harder.  _ Kill it. _ A mindless voice echoed in her mind.  _ Just kill it.  _

_ Silence.  _

Something was... off. Amira looked down to see the blade of a scimitar protruding from her gut and she clutched her side instinctively.  She felt her stomach churn inward. The air left her body as everything grew heavy and hot. Blood began to run through her hands, warm and thick. She fell to the side

_ Kill it. _

_ Why? _

Her mind was white with stinging clarity, as if she was waking from a very long dream. She looked around; everything was fresh and new. She blinked, trying to remember why she was here in the first place. She took a slow breath. Her vision slurred and the cave around her flew sideways. An electric jolt shot up the side of her jaw as a deep, throbbing pain radiated from her side.

Oh, right. She’d been stabbed.

Amira ducked as a golden blade sliced from above, missing her ear by a hair’s breadth. Sparks flew as the blade swiped against hard stone. And then, all she could see was was the shine of the blade, pressing down from above, moments away from its final end. His muscular form was suffocating; her strength was failing fast. The tip of the blade pressed into her cheek. Amira pushed away. She felt the blade plunge into her gut for the second time, but it was all it took. Amira grasped the side of his jaw.  _ Twist. Snap. _ And, at last, it was over. 

With a heave, she shoved the big oaf off of her. The djinn landed in the dirt beside her, fading into the wind. A single, small bottle stood in its wake. Transfixing colors swirled on its surface, from greens and oranges to purples and red, all encrusted in glimmering gold. Amira laid there, trying to catch her breath, trying to stop the world from spinning. She pressed down on the wound in her side, but the blood flowed fast and thick. 

“I need your scarf.” She said. 

Caleb run over and knelt beside her. But, he wasn’t looking at her. Slowly, he picked up the bottle, his hands shaking, his eyes wide, staring at it as if the world itself had stopped spinning.

“Caleb, I need your scarf.” 

He didn’t answer. With a grimace, she hoisted herself up and roughly pulled the scarf from his neck.

Stuffing the cloth in the crevices of her armor, she asked, “Where are we?” 

“Don’t you see?” He stared at her, incredulous. He held the lantern up to her. “This… can fix everything. Everything.” 

His expression scared her. Desire and magic had always made her hair stand on edge. Softly, she said,“It cannot bring the dead back to life.”

Amira touched his shoulder, only for him to pull away. “Yes. It can.”

She took a step back, looking around for anything that would appease this sense of encroaching dread she felt in the dark recesses of her mind.. Why were they here? For this small thing? This...bottle? She tried to remember something -anything- from the last six days. Her memory was a blank slate, filled with nothing that made sense. She couldn’t remember.

“Caleb, why can’t I remember?”

He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

Amira pulled Caleb off the ground and slammed him against the wall of the cave. “Caleb, what did you do?”

Caleb opened his mouth, but didn’t answer. She never understood how he could mix up every emotion into a small smile. Nervousness, pity, sorrow: it was all there jumbled up in the crow’s feet of his eyes. 

Amira snatched the lamp from his hands. With a single swoop, she tossed it against the wall. Caleb screamed, reaching out for the dreams she had just shattered across the stone.

“Give me a reason not to kill you.” Amira bared her teeth. 

“Please-” 

She cut him off before he could speak, pressing the blade tighter against his throat. Blood pooled at the tip of her knife.

“Make it a good one.” 

“Fjord.” He croaked. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed nervously. “Mollymauk. Beauregard. Yasha. Nott.”

“You dare use those names against me?” She dug the knife deeper. She’d done it countless times before. One quick, easy moment is all it would take. She would have her release. 

Amira searched his eyes for an answer. All she saw was painful, consuming desperation. One single motive. An all-encompassing drive that kept one foot out of the grave and the mind on its way to madness. Could she not see the same every morning in the mirror? 

She paused, hardening her heart. She clenched her jaw, and in halted, broken Zimenian she said, “I would have come if you’d only asked.”

A choked sobbed erupted from his lip. And, she let him go.

Caleb fell to his knees with a sob. The dirt and blood clung to his coat as he crawled over to the shattered lamp; cradling the broken pieces and tears streaming down his face. Amira watched for a moment -her fist clenched around the knife still in her hand- and she walked out into the night. 

####  ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A complete rewrite! Never thought I'd finish this one, but it's become one of my favorites! Hope you enjoy!


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